


dolled-up bones

by eruukat



Series: time flies like moonlight [4]
Category: UTAU, Vocaloid
Genre: (hopefully lol), M/M, Other, also remember how ritsu is canonically a koreaboo, content warnings in notes, hes not actually a koreaboo here but he does mention kpop mostly for some jokes, intentionally in all lowercase, its not all serious tho, lapslock, ritsu uses he/him pronouns, ruko uses they/them pronouns, there is in fact humor, uhh kind of a serious work? but idk if id call it angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:07:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28295034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eruukat/pseuds/eruukat
Summary: it's not that piko's uncomfortable with what he is, right now, in the moment. it's moreso that he's tired of being smothered, violently or softly, into molds.maybe it's time to unpack how gender stereotypes and the sexualization of femininity has burned through his bones and melted his core into something white-hot and angry and self-harming.
Relationships: Gumi & Utatane Piko, Namine Ritsu & Utatane Piko, Namine Ritsu/Yokune Ruko, Utatane Piko/VY2 Yuuma, both take a backseat to the story but are there nonetheless, so if u arent fond of these ships thats probably ok! theyre only mentioned, tagged those two specifically bc their friendships are a big part of this fic
Series: time flies like moonlight [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1792513
Kudos: 9





	dolled-up bones

**Author's Note:**

> content warnings:  
> \- mentions of being sexualized/objectified as a minor and as an adult affecting who you are. there aren't any descriptions of harassment or assault, but the fear of being harassed by authority figures and/or peers is still mentioned. 
> 
> \- the term sh*ta (uncensored in fic, but censored here just in case) is used. again, this is used to explore how sexualization in media can affect personal growth and self expression, and it is criticized. sh*tacon media and cp are not mentioned any more in-depth than the mentions of sh*ta as a term and genre.
> 
> \- internalized slut shaming. piko doesn't slut shame anyone else, but he does call himself a wh*re/sl*t (same as above). this is meant to be portrayed as something to work on + move on from.
> 
> \- overall the fic is about gender expression, but again, please stay safe!

it’s 2014, piko’s freshman year of high school, and he’s recently debuted as a vocaloid and an idol. back then, piko didn’t think much of fashion; it wasn’t his thing, and fashion served to brand him as an artist more than anything. on his own time, he mostly stuck to long sleeved shirts (all the time, even in the hottest days of summer) and jeans, only in shades of black, white, or gray. maybe teal or mountain dew green, if he was feeling adventurous.

he hated his vocaloid outfit with a passion. loathed it, really. absolutely despised it and wouldn't touch it unless the company made him. 

not that the outfit was a dress, though. of course not. and anyone who thought so was an idiot, or some weird shota fangirl. 

no fucking thanks, he'll pass.

(he should probably be a little less vengeful towards the outfit considering that he met len because len fell into the former category and thought he was "also a shota!", but he digresses.)

things would be so much better if he just cut his hair--they'd have no excuse to put him in That Outfit anymore, it wouldn't fit a short haired concept--and yet, he can't do it. every time he picks up the scissors, he thinks of his mother, and that's enough to set them back down and bear with the whole ordeal. everything is for her, after all.

xxx

sophomore year was when he and flower met and she converted him to becoming a visual kei fan. he wasn't bold enough to delve into goth and lolita fashion like she did, so instead, he tried out casual grunge and punk fashion. black jeans, black nails, chains on his belt loops and tatters like knife slashes through black jeans. it felt like he fit in, somehow; like his exterior finally matched his mental image of himself.

he was untouchable and unreachable, and he felt in control.

when flower wanted to try out something new--maybe chop off years worth of hair, maybe try wearing boy's shorts and loose hoodies--he urged her to do it. why be afraid? no one would judge her, and he thought it'd suit her.

even after flower made the transition to short hair, and even after she became comfortable with switching between lolita dresses and boyish clothes whenever she felt like it, piko still, somehow, couldn't imagine applying that advice to himself.

xxx

piko was completely broke during junior year. he sold most of his punk outfits on ebay just to earn some extra cash, and even when money was back to normal, he didn't have the heart to buy them back.  
his heart was already jet black as it was, and a tiny voice in the inside of his head told him that wearing all black would only make it more real.

xxx

senior year, he finally came to terms with it. okay, so his official design is a dress. what about it? he didn't design it, so what's the point of feeling responsible for it?

rin and gumi were the ones that forced him to confront that, as well as the ones who supported him endlessly when he admitted he'd been eyeing pastel goth fashion. gumi offered to go shopping with him to find some outfits he'd be comfortable in, but the very idea of shopping for clothes with friends sounded like something from a chick flick, too stereotypical for him to stomach. so instead, he searched on the internet himself, researching intensely and sometimes receiving texts from gumi or flower when they found an item that reminded them of him.

the first time he got an order in, he immediately set up a meeting with gumi and flower (to "grab some boba", obviously. not to test whether or not he liked wearing soft, feminine colors outside the safety of his own room). 

shockingly, it was a success. neither of the girls made a big deal about it (though it was impossible to miss the fond looks on their faces when they noticed how much he seemed to be enjoying himself), and that helped a lot. especially when several strangers stared at him for a little too long to be considered normal, or when they ran into lily and she commented he looked a lot different.

from that day onwards, he began to make more changes. after lui dyed the tips of his hair pastel pink, piko asked him to dye the tips of his hair teal, too; he stopped straightening his hair like his favorite j-rock idols, and he let his hair get as fluffy as it wanted to; he began to wear spiked headbands and pastel pink button up shirts with more spikes on the collar, and all of the other soft colors he had been afraid of being associated with for all of these years.

it was freeing, being able to wear whatever he wanted. and it was nice to live in the best of both worlds, wearing candy tones and flower crowns, yet still keeping spikes and chains and reminding the world that he's just as sharp tongued and harsh as ever, even if he has gotten maybe a little softer around the edges.

xxx 

that phase came and went, though he still kept the clothes from senior year, and he still wore them from time to time.

now he's in college. 

he finds it a little ridiculous that he still gets so caught up over appearances and clothes, and he finds it very annoying that he can't stop talking about it to his friends. he mentions it during a cuddling session with yuuma, who pauses spirited away just to listen to him rant about how clothes are just clothes and they shouldn't matter, even though they do; he mentions it to ritsu and ruko during a coffee run, and they sip their drinks pensively while he repeats the exact same ramble he gave to yuuma.

they're surprisingly quiet as he rambles, actually. usually, ritsu is quick to add input to conversations, and he has a rather bad habit of interrupting, but this time they're listening really well. almost suspiciously so, if piko thinks about it, even moreso when the two of them wait a full five seconds to ensure piko's absolutely, completely finished talking before they speak.

ritsu, as usual, is the one who speaks first.

"i agree," he says boldly. "it's just fucking fabric, dude. people give clothes meaning." he takes another long sip before continuing, "in fact, the more i wear dresses--what, it's been over six years now?" he asks ruko.

they nod, so he says, "yeah, six plus years. to be honest, those six years have made me think clothes are more about how you interact with your own body than anything."

piko blinks. "oh?"

"yeah, ritsu and i read this article about it," ruko supplies. "it was about how women's clothes are allowed to get more masculine--such as pants going from being for men only to being unisex--but men's clothes aren't allowed to get more feminine. once something becomes 'for women', like skirts or heels, it never goes back to being unisex or masculine."

"oh." piko repeats dumbly. "shit, what?? i forgot about that."

"right??" ritsu asks. "anyways, so ruko showed me the thing and it made me think about me and dresses. like...clothes are only comfortable or uncomfortable because the way they feel changes how you perceive your body, right? so wearing a dress forces you to change the way you interact with yourself, in a way. if nothing else because of how different clothing shapes physically feel on you."

"that's...huh. y'know, i hate to admit you aren't full of shit, but maybe you're onto something. are you sure it isn't some sjw bullshit?"

"piko, you said yourself it's just cloth," ruko points out, rubbing their thumb against the plastic of their empty coffee cup. "why else would you be so uncomfortable? genuine question by the way, i'm not opposed to hearing more thoughts."

he doesn't answer. instead, he just sighs and covers his face with his hands, sinking his weight onto his elbows. "ugh, i don't even know why it bothers me. maybe it's about the dress."

"the dress?"

"my official outfit."

now ritsu groans and hits his head against the back of the booth seat. "piko, it's been ten fucking thousand years. accept the dress,"

"i'm trying! i don't get why it's been bothering me for so many years."

"just accept the fucking dress!"

piko sits up suddenly. "how?!"

"bitch, how am i supposed to know? find out yourself. get flower or yuuma to try some outfits with you."

he snorts. "so what, am i supposed to try on skirts to see if i'll magically discover, 'hey! my masculinity complexes all these years were just to hide my raging need to look like a kawaii desu anime schoolgirl!'"

ruko taps the bottom of their cup onto the table like a court gavel, and despite the fact that it only makes a shallow _tap-tap_ noise, the other two instantly shut up.

"guys guys guys. chill out, no one's saying you have to turn into a baby girl aesthetic or anything. let's find out what actually bothers you. is it the masculinity thing or a comfort thing or...?"

piko sighs yet again. this conversation is giving him a headache, and he would do just about anything to get it over with and change topics. "i don't know. my current clothes are fine, i guess. it's not like i'm not comfortable, i guess i'm just tired."

"tired of...?"

he shrugs lamely. "feeling dumb and insecure about what i wear? feeling defensive about my face and keeping my hair long?"

"and why are you defensive?" ritsu butts back in, less heated now that ruko changed the course of the conversation.

"i guess...my whole career, everyone's assumed i'm some pretty boy with no personality and no sense of spine. oh my god, and the whole blushy, stuttery shota stereotype. i fucking hate that. to this _day_ , people get so pissy when they hear me swear because they're fucking let down or some shit?? because they saw my face and they wanted me to be some cutesy little angel? what the fuck! i was born with this face, it doesn't determine my personality or who i am!"

one stranger sends them a tired glare. another looks puzzled. ritsu opens his mouth, and ruko sends him a quick glare.

"uh, dude... i don't know how to tell you this..." they edge. "but...those people's opinions are shaping you, and whether you like it or not, that means you are letting your face determine parts of your personality." then, softer, "you've gotta let go."

xxx

he doesn't know how to. he's been struggling with it for years--even worse than len has--and ultimately, he's lost.

he asks flower about it, since he remembers she used to struggle with deciding how she wanted to present.

"hmm... well... maybe just try things out." she shrugs with the faintest, laziest movement of her shoulder. "i kind of had an idea of what i wanted, but if you don't know what you want, then maybe you've got to confront your insecurities instead."

"how would i confront the fact that i hate that having a feminine face seems to automatically equate to being feminine?"

"what's the problem with being feminine?" she asks blankly, without any hint of bias or offense. "i used to wear lolita outfits, and you don't get much more 'feminine' than lace and dresses. but it didn't affect my personality."

"i guess."

"what does femininity mean to you?"

a long pause. he thinks back to all of the youtube comments he's read, full of squealing girls and heart emojis.

"delicacy. someone grindingly sweet and kind. unrealistically patient or quiet."

"so if i presented femininely--and i still do--would you say i'm any of those stereotypes?"

he answers much more easily this time. "no. you're just...you."

"exactly. stereotypes are just stereotypes. don't let them affect how you view yourself."

more silence.

then, she asks, "so what's masculinity to you?"

"something overly strong and forced. something i can't relate to."

"you need to think about why gender means all of that to you."

xxx

it takes months for him to process that his views are just stereotypes. he doesn't have a firm grasp on it, but he thinks that maybe all this time, he's been trapped up in unhealthy definitions.

femininity and masculinity are still a thing, he thinks, but maybe his view of them has been wrong the entire time.

he's let the comments and the perceptions of others affect him for too long, even if his reactions were born from a place of defiance and outrage in the first place.

xxx

groupchat name: a big middle finger to fabric  
participants: you (piko), gumi, flower, ritsu, yuuma

piko: hey guys  
piko: i made a gc cause i decided to finally try the clothes thing  
piko: idk what to try but i want to do an experiment based off of that one article ritsu was telling me about

ritsu: what article

piko: the one about how clothes affect how you see yourself or something

ritsu: ?????????????  
ritsu: o H  
ritsu: [ face palming gif of some troll from homestuck ]  
ritsu: right nvm

piko: feel free to add rin or ruko if you guys want, i didnt know if they liked fashion very much or what

gumi: oh whew i thought you were aCtually excluding them...... imagine that >:o

piko: oh, im definitely excluding them  
piko: but you have the option to unexclude them

gumi: its not excluding them if theyre free to be added ;) but if you insiiiist

yuuma: so why am i here then

piko: i thought maybe you  
piko: might  
piko: like to add suggestions  
piko: .

yuuma: ?

piko: nvm

gumi: :O  
gumi: oh?? :looking_eyes:

piko: @gumi, don’t even dare. stop typing  
piko: dont make me dm you

ritsu: @gumi, mind ur own bUsiness, dAvid

gumi: ;) ok ok  
gumi: and btw ik rin wouldnt tease you, bUt i wont invite her if you dont want me to

piko: its ok  
piko: just  
piko: send me outfits guys. im gonna experiment with the clothing and perception or interaction thing or whatever

gumi: oooooo, like a social experiment!!! neatttt

flower: so...........  
flower: ill send masculine outfits for you..  
flower: since i know ritsu will probably send skirts..

ritsu: bOld of you to forget my undying love for korea  
ritsu: male kpop fashion has been super progressive as of late so im sending these  
ritsu: [ spams several images consisting of male idols wearing half skirts with pants underneath, crop tops, floor length skirts, and so on ]

piko: b a r f, of c o u r s e kpop is already trying to fix my fucking issues  
piko: why does kpop have to do with e v e r y t h i n g  
piko: i want kpop to leave my life and respect my personal space  
piko: ive never even listened to kpop :/

ritsu: never  
ritsu: kpop and i are going to haunt your grave lmaoooo  
ritsu: anyways so feminine clothing for men it is  
ritsu: thanks korea! i love it  
ritsu: kisses fingers like chef and wishes i wasnt in japan

piko: i hate it  
piko: but yeah thanks i guess

gumi: if flower and ritsu wont send skirts then should i?

piko: sighhhhhhh  
piko: why the fuck not

gumi: if at any point you want me to send them back, i will uwu  
gumi: keep us updated!!

it's completely dumb, but he can't help the smile making its way across his face.  
he doesn't know what he did to deserve them.

xxx

"can you not stand outside the fucking door like that? the goal is to see how i feel different wearing this, not to feel like i'm going on the runway."

"fine, fuckhead, i'll go grab more ramune," ritsu's voice shouts from outside the closet door. "tell me when you're finally out of the closet, you big gay."

"whatever, asswipe!" piko bites back halfheartedly.

the five of them ended up deciding that they'd spend a month on this project. during the weekend--when he doesn't have to embarrass himself during lectures or in front of his classmates--he's to visit the person who suggested the outfits he's wearing for the experiment that week. they casually hang out, piko has social interaction in a safe space, and the experiment can begin.

first, of course, had to be ritsu and ruko.

the first outfit is a variation of an outfit piko's been wearing since freshman year of high school, which really takes him back.

it's a long sleeve, black and white striped shirt, but cropped a little. to compensate, since piko clarified over the groupchat that he didn't feel comfortable showing that much skin for the experiment, he's wearing high waisted jeans.

it's weird how he feels exposed and oddly covered at the same time; the shirt is so airy, he feels transparent, yet the high waist of his pants makes him feel like something is wrapping and coiling itself around his stomach.

he regrets everything already.

he finally steps out of the closet, only to look in the bathroom mirror and find that he looks like an absolute caricature of a gay man.

ritsu appears in the mirror, right next to piko's reflection, sipping peach ramune and covered in black lace. 

"you're calling yourself a twink, aren't you?"

"definitely not," piko deadpans. "i thought i looked rather like a bodybuilder, myself."

ritsu flicks his shoulder. "ha, ha. aren't you clever. so what about the accursed fabric makes you feel like a twink, derogatory?"

"other than this being the exact twink outfit all the twinks are wearing these days? uh...i don't like how exposed i feel. i feel like a whore."

"nothing wrong with being a whore,” ritsu shrugs. “now put it in article terms?"

"the fabric makes me interact with my body weirdly, cause _some of us_ aren’t aiming to be a _whore_. no thanks."

"huh. well, unfortunately for you, we have the rest of the day to see if your perspective changes. good luck."

ritsu pats him on the back, and with a swish of his skirts, he's vanished into another room again.

xxx

piko stares at his reflection in the mirror, lifts one arm to see how the top rides up. pointing his arm straight forwards lets him see down the length of his sleeve. he hasn’t shaved in a few weeks, and that tiny detail helps him feel more masculine, and less sexy even. he would’ve never expected “unsexy” to be a good feeling, but it seems to keep the spark of defiance alive even with this outfit.

he raises the same arm and watches as the shirt reveals a line of his ribs, and the belt loops of the high waisted jeans. when did he get so scrawny? he feels tiny and thin and breakable and out of place even in his own skin and clothes. he raises both arms and the only reason he doesn’t change is that the crop drapes low enough to cover his chest and nipples.

he’s always been fine with seeing his own body, and he’s even been fine with swimsuits, but something about having sections of his body visible once at a time fills his stomach and lungs with an almost guilty feeling. he catches his own eyes in the mirror and keeps contact and thinks _you’re a slut and a stereotype. you’re a stereotype and that’s not me._

piko turns off the bathroom light and leaves the room.

xxx

ruko looks up from their phone once they hear piko come in, and they have the grace to not stare at his exposed stomach for longer than a glance. “hey dude, how’s it going?”

piko shifts on his legs and tries not to let the cloth move too much. “i don’t want to talk about it.”

ruko shrugs and goes back to their phone. “sit down then, we’re gonna vibe for a bit.”

“you guys just… sit around like this? dressed up?”

“yeah, why not? it’s comfy as shit. makes me feel cool.” 

ritsu looks away from the tv, remote still raised, and offers, “personally, i’d rather die than wear pants, so it’s either all this,” he gestures to the spread-legs, unusual way he’s sitting despite the lolita get up, “or boxers, and i figure you don’t want to see that.”

piko fake gags. “i’d rather pull my eyes out, no thanks. save it for ruko.”

“he does,” they call out, smirking a little, and piko’s face scrunches up like someone just chugged straight up ranch dressing right in front of him.

nevertheless, he finally plops down on the couch, keeping some distance between ritsu and ruko. ritsu finally finds something on the tv, and he slumps back into the couch cushions with a spine angle that cannot be healthy. his petticoats drape in between his legs and keep piko from seeing anything he’d rather not, but he still finds himself staring. ritsu just… sits like that? however he wants? even though he’s in a dress? obviously, ritsu’s always been himself regardless of how much lace and satin he’s dripping in, but it’s like he’s seeing the way ritsu carries himself for the first time all over again. ritsu wouldn’t be ritsu if he wasn’t in drag half the time, but piko never realized he’d stopped defining ritsu by that a long time ago.

ruko leans over to adjust something and the bottom of the couch pops up as a leg rest, catching piko’s eye. maybe he should get more comfortable too. he props one foot up on the coffee table, letting his knees splay out, and he leans back, elbows resting on the back of the couch.

as he begins to relax, a new emotion joins his discomfort. the stew of weird, bad emotions aren’t replaced, but at the back of his head, a voice asks with satisfaction, _could a whore sit with this posture? could he feel that empowered?_

 _of course he could, you fucking idiot. innocence and confidence are both branded and sold for sex._ the negative self-talk bites back. _it doesn’t mean anything._

movement catches his eye, and it’s ruko moving again. they’re switching places so that they can rest their head on ritsu’s lap, arms behind their head. piko doesn’t know anything about being nonbinary or assigned female at birth, but he wonders how the hell ruko is so comfortable in and out of a binder. it’s hard enough coping with his self image as it is; he couldn’t imagine having breasts too. but having breasts or a flat chest both look like the most comfortable thing in the world for them, just like how having toned, muscular arms and unshaved legs is also inherently a part of their body. they’re feminine and masculine and both at once and neither; just a human in a body, wearing whatever decorations suit them most.

piko lifts his arms and places them behind his own head, mirroring ruko’s position, and he can finally focus on the tv again without interruptions.

it’s natural and unnatural; he’s back in his own skin, hanging out with some friends, but simultaneously, he feels flashy and exposed and wrong.

it isn’t him. but at the same time, the confidence is, and he thinks he shouldn’t feel filthy just because he’s wearing something that isn’t him.

xxx

“makeup wasn’t a part of the deal,” piko huffs.

“do you want to look like multitalented, second generation legend lee taemin or not?” ritsu counters. “pick a color and put it on. it’s a part of the test.”

piko snatches up a small container from the counter and sends him a death glare, muttering something about “why do you phrase shit like that?” and “gonna kick your ass after this” as he looks down to see what he grabbed. it’s… compact eyeshadow, from the looks of it, in nude tones. he can work with that. 

the container opens with a click, and there’s a mirror at the bottom of the lid. it’s tiny, so he has to stick his face all up in it, but he manages to get the job done and apply some dark browns to his eyelids.

“….it looks like shit.” he announces flatly.

“hold on, i’m playing bandori,” ritsu mumbles. he fumbles to pause, then gives up and looks at him anyway. “pfffft, it does, wow.”

“take it off.”

“makeup wipes are over there. no, not that. it’s that one.”

the makeup wipes smear the color around his face for a bit and he panics, but it comes off eventually, leaving his skin a little flushed.

“was it that bad?” ritsu snickers.

“no, it looked stupid. you do it this time.”

“fine, just this once. but if you like how it looks, you’re gonna learn to do it yourself. deal?”

“whatever, just get started.”

xxx

the end look is both more subtle and more striking than he was expecting. ritsu had given him soft, warm brown eyeshadow, and an outfit consisting of slacks and a flowy white top with an upside-down, triangle cut-out showing the center of his chest.

it’s exposing, like the previous outfit, but showing this part of his skin seems to make all the difference. he’s never seen a man wear something like this--it looks like it’s meant to show cleavage--but the shape of the garment is almost...flattering? it’s feminine, yes, but somehow that brings out a grace to himself that he’d never expected to see, even though he’s been an idol for years. his chest is still not as masculine as he’d always wanted, but the keyhole serves as a reminder that he’s masculine nonetheless. he feels less fragile and more like a dancer, soft and strong and lithe all at once. 

if that’s what it means to embrace everything about himself, repressing neither half, then he thinks he could get used to this.

xxx

next is yuuma, who lets him borrow pastel hoodies and try wearing outfits that are androgynous without hiding behind the safe harshness of all the spikes and studs and chains he wore in his pastel goth phase.

for the most part, he feels like he’s copping yuuma’s style, but he’s comfortable and starting to ease himself out of the shell he didn’t even know he’d built for himself.

he wonders why he feels more alive, more like a person, when wearing loose clothes instead of form fitting clothes. 

(exposure is starting to feel less vague, and more like he’s a product or a mannequin out on display, waiting to be consumed. he’s not an object, he knows he’s not, but he doesn’t trust others to hold themselves back. experience has always proved that the world will jump on him out of prejudice or want, so he can only do so much with the girlish body he’s been given.)

xxx

despite piko ruling out crop tops, he still insisted that gumi should lend him one of her skirts.

being roommates makes the process feel a little easier, which helps a lot considering how stressful it is to stare at the dress on her bed, knowing that it will soon be _on him_. 

“if it makes you feel any better, i have a wide waist, so your hips probably aren’t all that feminine,” gumi offers.

“no, it’s not that. thanks for giving me another thing to worry about, though,” he snarks.

“fuck, i’m sorry,” she groans. “seriously, i’m kind of wide, and you’re really skinny, so--”

“i’m kidding, i’m kidding. you’re fine.” he interrupts. he’d feel bad making gumi of all people feel guilty, so he backtracks immediately and makes himself pick up the skirt. just one of his normal outfits with a skirt instead of jeans. a hoodie and a skirt. he can do this.

even in their own dorm, with the blinds shut and the doors locked, piko feels visible again. having his legs free like this borders on nice, and he’s wearing shorts underneath anyway, so it’s not all that different than what he wears around the house. but the extra cloth seems to be hiding something (the mini skirt is teasing him, he knows that if he went out everyone would want to see in betwee--) and it’s unbearably hard to twist the doorknob and let gumi see him.

he forces his chin up and sets his jaw and stares her dead in the eyes. no one will ever catch him embarassed like this, that’d be even worse. he’d be weak and--

“that looks comfy!” gumi exclaims. she looks him up and down, but it feels neutral. platonic. simply observing. “so? how is it?”

the lump in his throat won’t let him swallow. “different.”

“oh? in what way?”

she’s keeping eye contact, genuine and clear, and she isn’t looking down at his legs or thighs or his skirt at all. she’s listening. this is gumi, he knows her, and she isn’t like that. she isn’t like the directors he’s worked with or the barely-restrained horny fangirls and fanboys that haunt him online, and she’s listening. he can trust her.

he lets go and the thought comes out for the very first time, physical and real and resounding through his own skull. “i...i feel like a whore. like i’m a product and everyone wants to see me.”

something intense crashes into gumi’s expression and floods her eyes, weighing down her shoulders. her arms move towards his, but she stops herself. “oh, i’m so sorry…. i didn’t know the industry did that to you too. or, well, i guess it doesn’t have to be the industry, but…” she changes the subject. “do you want a hug?”

piko looks down at the skirt. he’s not weak, this is stupid. why would he need a hug for putting on a skirt? gumi and rin and flower all wear skirts all the time, he isn’t special. he’s just a fucking baby, that’s what he is.

“no,” he snaps. “i’m fine.” she recoils and he softens his voice to add, “and it is the industry. and uh. the comments i get and the songs they made me work on in the past.”

even more understanding soaks into her face and words. “ohhhhh. i get that. and i know len’s said stuff like that to me, too. they really fetishized his youth and femininity... and i know they do that to a lot of female idols, but it really sucks to have to watch you guys go through the same shit when it’s bad enough that i and my female friends and co workers have to, too.”

“i’m so fucking thin and pale and i’m sick of being compared to porcelain and dolls and--and… fuck, and being called a shota and shit, and i can’t do this shit anymore. i’m so fucking tired…. i’m so fucking tired and it’s sick that this happens. to anyone,” piko clarifies. “not just len and i. it’s stupid and i’m so tired of hating my body and being afraid of what people are thinking when they see me. what’s it gonna be, slurs? insults? more sexual shit? i can’t fucking do it anymore.”

gumi finally commits to reaching out to him, and she places her hands on his forearms. “hey, it’s okay. i understand, it’s okay.”

she gives him a moment to let the shudders of rage and fear and exhaustion rack through his shoulders a few more times, until they’re replaced by steady breathing. “listen, i know this is way easier said than done, but maybe you don’t have to do this anymore. maybe you and i and the rest of us are all meant to be the ones who change everything and tell the world that it’s not okay to treat you like that, or anyone else. tell the world you’re human! tell them your body is your own and you’re not ashamed of it! tell the world that you can dress for yourself and you’re not for them to touch. that’s what dressing like this means to me, anyway. so find what makes you feel like that, too. sometimes loving yourself is the biggest ‘fuck you’ to society that you can give.”

xxx

he keeps the skirt on for the rest of the day like they’d planned.

it’s not any more comfortable than it was earlier, but he remembers how ritsu is still himself regardless of what he’s wearing, and that helps him feel grounded.

skirts probably aren’t his thing no matter what, but it’s an experiment and the shell is cracking more and more. something inside of him is about to see light for the first time.

xxx

the rest of the experiment is a blur; he knows gumi and flower help him do his makeup more, like ritsu suggested, and he goes through with finishing the experiment. ritsu asks for results, but the rest of the groupchat adds that piko doesn’t have to have all the answers now, and that helps as well.

months continue to pass, and he works harder at rewiring his thought process.

piko likes makeup. he likes high waisted pants and keyhole sweaters and sometimes even wearing sheer, lace shirts as long as it’s for his partner’s eyes and yuuma’s eyes alone. maybe even having an androgynous figure isn’t so bad. broader shoulders and a strong figure suit others, but they’d feel too heavy and wrong on his body. he’s better off the way he is, and that’s okay.

it’s okay that his face is soft and his eyelashes are long. it’s okay that he takes more after his mother, and it’s okay that he still hasn’t chopped his hair off.

he’s a man and a person and he’s human, no matter who he’s around. there’s something powerful and hidden stirring within the shell, still not fully cracked open, but those walls will disappear one day. surely, he repeats. surely they will.

the process isn’t linear, but month by month he begins to feel more like himself; feminine and masculine and both at once and nothing at all; decked in spikes and barbs without having to hide behind them, and without being defined by them.

it's scary to think he might never fully crack the shell, that he'll never crawl out and peel free and show the world who he really, truly, definitely is, from his soul to his bones to his flesh to the clothes wrapping everything together.

but the clothes on his body aren’t him.

his body isn’t who he is.

these are merely things that belong to piko, and they're there for him and him alone to mold with his own hands.

it's simultaneously terrifying and liberating.

**Author's Note:**

> ive had this lying around in my drafts since may. ive never really been satisfied by the ending (its hard to write a conclusion for something you actively struggle with), and im worried that this isn't nuanced or well-written enough for the topics. also, as an afab person struggling with these issues, i didn't know if i was absolutely butchering amab people's experiences.... researching amab nonbinary + cis people struggling with these issues was.. hard, so i inevitably gave up on that front. if any amab people (or afab people!!) feel something is off here, please let me know!!!! despite all that, this fic is still really important to me and im proud of it! at worst, i hope it serves as a marker for future growth as a writer and as a person, and at best, i hope other people are able to see themselves in this work and feel comfort.
> 
> any and all feedback is welcome and appreciated <3


End file.
